


Reply All, Please.

by ThatF_ckingFangirl



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Armitage Hux is So Done, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kylo Ren, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkward reader, During Canon, Email Sexting, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Funny Smut, Masturbation, POV First Person, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Pre-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, This whole thing is just an awkward mess, Triple check your emails, Virgin Kylo Ren, Workplace Sex, holomail is a thing I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatF_ckingFangirl/pseuds/ThatF_ckingFangirl
Summary: You enjoy your work well enough, but typing up holomails as an administrative officer for the First Order isn’t exactly the most thrilling job in the world.  To help with the boredom, you do a little NSFW writing on the side. You just need to be discreet about it. After all, it wouldn’t do to accidentally send a copy to all departments and top-ranking officers in the entire Order. No, that wouldn’t do at all.AKA In which there's holomail snafus, and horniness ensues!
Relationships: Ben Solo | Kylo Ren/Reader, Kylo Ren/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	1. Snafu

_"You loomed over me, an uncharacteristic grin on your face. You were usually so somber. So forlorn. And yet, this expression wasn’t one of happiness. No, this was a look of predation. Of desire. I felt my insides churn like butter at the sound of your thick, buttery voice. Your butter churned my butter._

_“Stand up, my pet,” you said._

_“Yes, Master.” I mewled._

_“So obedient,” you cooed, slinking your thick, bulging arm around my waist and pulling me flush against your chest. My nipples puckered, and it was then I suddenly realized I was completely naked while you were still fully clothed. I pouted at this, wishing to see your thick, sweat-spattered pecs._

_I also wanted to see your penis._

_The grin on your face widened, indicating you heard my thoughts. I keep forgetting you can do that._

_“So eager,” you said, burying your face in the crook of my neck, nudging it with your thick, sexy nose, “Don’t worry, you’ll have me soon enough”. I wriggled in your grasp as you started licking and sucking the sensitive flesh like a carnivorous plant. You sucked at a particularly touchy spot, gifting me the third mark on my body that night, once again branding me. Like a baby calf._

_“Who do you belong to?” you husked, pulling away from me and staring deep into my eyes._

_“You, Master,” I gasped, as you began stroking the bundle of nerves between my wet folds. I squeaked as you picked up the pace. Your thick, meaty fingers pistoning in and out of me, like a butter churner churning butter._

_It was then I suddenly realized I was no longer in your arms but pressed up against the wall, feet above the floor. Oh my. You were using The Force. My deepest fantasy finally coming to fruition. And that wasn’t the only thing coming ;)_

_“And who is your Master?” you said, your fingers now pumping in and out of me so fast they were basically a blur. The squelching sounds my wet folds made were obscene._

_“Oh, sir!” I keened, the pressure building up in my belly too much to bear, “You’re gonna make me cum!”_

_“Not until you tell me who your Master is,” you said, licking your thick, pillowy lips. Then, sensing my confusion, you said, “Say my name, pet.”_

_“Oh,” I replied, not in pleasure, but in realization. Though the pleasure was still a factor too. I looked into your beautiful brown (or were they hazel?) eyes, gripping your thick, luscious locks while doing so. Heat warmed every inch of my body, and I was willing to say anything, do anything, to get you, my thick, strong, beautiful Supreme Leader, to make me cum. “Y-you’re my master, K-Kylo.” I squeaked._

_You groaned at this, and against all physical limitations, quickened the pace of your fingers buried in my wet folds. “Say it again,” you commanded._

_“You’re my Master, Kylo!” I said it louder, with more conviction now. I was yours for the taking. The exquisite pressure in my tummy ready to burst any moment, much like Starkiller Base burst without warning and killed hundreds of comrades in the process. May they rest with the stars._

_“Again,” you moaned, pressing your lips to mine. It made it difficult to speak, but I managed._

_“KYLO!” I screamed throatily and muffled, “I’M YOURS, MASTER REN!”_

_“New Message from General Armitage Hux”_

The alert was so jarring, you nearly jumped out your seat. You checked the notification to discover yet another message from the General. Shit. Apparently, you’d forgotten to attach the updated schedule to the weekly rundown. 

“Attach it at once,” the General wrote, “and reply all, please.”

You hurriedly clicked out your steamy fic and opened up the requested schedule. After a quick once over, you saved the document and attached it to the holomail, adding a hasty apology. Hitting send, you sat back with a sigh. 

Such errors were embarrassing considering everybody in the First Order was on those holomails. Your mind flitted to the Supreme Leader, imagining him in his dark, foreboding throne room, isolated from everyone else, and for once felt grateful he likely never paid much attention to your messages.

Swiping back to your story, you looked at the text-filled screen, its title, “Correct Your Temperament” in the top header. You tapped the save button and closed the document. 

“Stupid,” you muttered.

The cafeteria was completely empty now, and the clock ticked to the top of the hour. Time to return to the humdrum of work.

All things considered, The First Order was kinda boring. Once the initial excitement of working for an intergalactic regime dedicated to restoring the galaxy to its rightful state wore off, one workday became like any other workday. 

“Work is work,” as your colleague put it, and you couldn’t disagree. Your job boiled down to sending and receiving holomail to and from various departments within the Order. Mainly reminders or Order-relegated documents summarized by exciting subject lines like “ _Schematic Breakdown at Hour 09:00_ ” or “ _Rescheduled Maintenance Check in Sector B-007_ ”. Mundane stuff. 

Nevertheless, you were grateful for the job. It put blue milk on the table, and, in a sense, your department was the last line of defense before final decisions were set into motion. Swift, secure information transfer was dependent on you and your teammates, and with the semi-recent failure of Starkiller Base and the more recent murder of Leader Snoke, paper trails and transparency were prioritized now more than ever. The higher ups would oft not acknowledge it, but you and the few dozen other administrative officers served as the blood vessel of the organization. 

Still, days like today proved to be particularly drab. The only shred of excitement arrived earlier before your break in the form of a weekly rundown - a run-of-the-mill progress report rehashing any notable updates within the past week. As you finished detailing the boring protocol, you read and re-read the message, making sure every letter and punctuation mark were in its proper place before adding your closing line, "That's all for today's first order of business". It was just a little something you thought funny when first starting the job, but the levity soon wore off, and it was by now just another part of the monotonous routine. 

Scanning the cc’d list a final time, your eyes hovered over the name, _Ren, Kylo_ , before hitting send.

As dull as it was, this particular holomail was special as it’s sent to all departments and divisions within the First Order, cc’ing top-ranking members like General Hux and even the Supreme Leader himself. The latter is what made it marginally exciting. The newly-appointed leader of the First Order never responded to your holomails - there was no need; nothing you sent was urgent enough, and his inclusion was just a formality - but it still made you giddy to know your words were somehow reaching his peripheral. 

Not long after the Starkiller disaster, the once-Commander suddenly opted to travel about without his helmet and continued to do so even following the death of former Leader Snoke. No one seemed to know why, but you certainly weren’t complaining. In the rare event he walked by your department, sometimes with his band of Knights in tow, you managed to glean a good look at his face, and- oh. What a face it was. 

Plush lips. A proud and sturdy nose. Chiseled jawline. His dark and startlingly expressive eyes. Moles, you noticed, speckled his face in a way that made him appear youthful - one might even say innocent weren’t it for the minacious way he carried himself. Not to mention that glorious head of black hair framing his features in waves so luscious and deep, you’d pay to drown in them. Starkiller should’ve blown up ages ago if it meant seeing him unmasked sooner. Not that you knew for sure one had anything to do with the other.

Regardless the reason, it wasn’t long before you began developing a very one-sided crush on your dark-haired superior. Some of your colleagues might’ve taken notice, but they never mentioned it if they did. You kept to yourself for the most part, and the isolation served as a needed reprieve that allowed you time to focus on your newest hobby. 

It started as a joke at first. A cheeky love letter to the Supreme Leader that you had no intentions of sending. In it, you praised his strength, his leadership, his thick, muscle-toned body, and the way you wanted to climb him like the steepest cliffs known to the galaxy.

But soon, it burgeoned into something more narrative-driven. You were an artist at heart, and there was nothing better to do on this giant hunk of metal. What better way to pass the time than write some boots-to-mud, down and dirty smut? And who better to star in your "colorful" fantasies than the brooding mountain of a man occupying your every waking thought for the past several weeks? 

Yes, it was inappropriate to write these debased things about your boss, and it could technically earn you a one-way ticket out the nearest airlock if anyone were to find out. But this was personal. A special catharsis. That’s why you found yourself tucked in a corner of the cafeteria, alone, tapping away on your datapad, the lustful secrets it contained for your eyes and your eyes only.

**

You knew something was wrong the moment you returned to the department hall. The usual silence punctuated by beeps and boops of touchpads was now replaced with hushed whispers in the air. Your fellow officers were huddled about in clusters, hunched over monitors. The normally dull energy in the room now sharpened to a pointed edge. 

As you walked to your cubicle, one co-worker looked up from his group and spotted you. His eyes went wide and caught on yours as you slid into your chair, watching the man as he watched you. He soon broke eye contact and whispered something in the ear of a woman standing next to him. She too whipped her head around at you, bug-eyed, before turning away. The whispers ramped up even more.

You forced your attention back to the monitor, hoping some work would distract from whatever was going on. You logged in and opened up the holomail inbox. No confirmation of receipt from the General. Strange. He always confirmed your holomails. In fact, it appeared no holomails were coming in at all, which was very unlike the usual steady stream of messages that funneled in throughout the day. It was as if all communications across the First Order had suddenly ceased. 

Your throat felt a little thick, and webs of anxiety started threading their way through you. Something was clearly awry. 

Without warning, another one of your colleagues, Zach, appeared at your side, posture stiff and face ashen. You stared at him. He stared at you. 

“Your holomail,” he finally said, voice hoarse. 

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What about it?”

“Check your response to the General.”

When he offered no further explanation, you returned your gaze to the monitor. As if in slow motion, your finger hovered above the most recent holomail chain and opened it up to your last sent message. Your eyes skimmed over the hastily-written apology, worried you’d misspelled and/or said something uncouth by mistake. But when your eyes flicked down to the attached document at the bottom of the page, you realized the situation was much, much more dire than that. 

Oh. 

Oh, dear Maker, no. 

Nestled at the foot of the holomail was a word-based document, its title highlighted in bold, blue letters: “CorrectYourTemperament.wrd”.

It took just a few seconds of staring at the screen before your brain fully processed what had taken place. Before the panic could set in, however, a message popped up in your inbox. It was a single-line reply sent just to you and no one else on the mail chain. You read the line once, then once over again, mind reeling in an attempt to keep whatever little crumb of composure you had left intact. 

The message: “thanks for the update, I guess.”

The sender: _Ren, Kylo_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader, you done goofed. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, y'all. If you like it so far, I might add to this. I have some ideas for where this might go. 
> 
> PSA: Triple check your emails before sending. "Undo" is also an option.


	2. The Sender

In the darkest depths of _The Supremacy,_ Kylo Ren shifted on his throne for what seemed the umpteenth time that day. The damned thing hurt his ass so much and was swiftly becoming the most hated aspect of his new role as Supreme Leader. Leave it to the First Order to slap together a few slabs of unyielding concrete and call it a chair. How did Snoke manage to sit on this thing for all those years? Perhaps killing him was indeed just an act of mercy.

With a sigh, he relaxed back into his seat as best he could and stared at the cold, black walls surrounding him. It was grim and maybe a bit plain compared to the flashy red aesthetic his predecessor had chosen, but at the time, Kylo was determined to remove all reminders of Snoke and make this place his own. He soon realized, however, the black paint job made the throne room appear larger than it was and a great deal more creepy. 

At first, he tried stationing his Knights in there with him, much like the Praetorian Guards. Though it proved to be uncomfortable, having everyone stand around and stare at each other in silence like that, so Kylo dismissed the group and said he’d just call on them when needed. Still, he felt unnaturally isolated down here, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake with this design choice.

Truth be told, he was still getting used to the whole Supreme Leader thing. There wasn’t any employee handbook. No manual for how to properly do his job. When he was Commander, all he had to do was fly around with his Knights and fulfill the missions given to him by Snoke. But now, he was the one delegating. Now, he was the one to plot the course for the First Order’s future success. Sure, killing Snoke had its upsides, but he was left without any guidance.

His mind drifted to that fateful day when he sliced his former master in two. He always figured Snoke would die by his hand at some point, he just didn’t know when. Turns out the moment of truth arrived sooner than expected. It wasn't planned, but the seconds leading up to that life-altering decision were so vivid, so clear, he knew what he needed to do. He said as much. Remembered how _she_ looked at him when he said it. Fear. Disappointment. Only to be replaced with relief moments later. Hope. He’d never been looked at that way before. Never felt so seen. So believed in, and trusted, and-

Why was he thinking about this? His ass hurt, and there were other things to attend to. Let the past die. 

“Niney!” he called out with a wince of pain. If only he could let this poor excuse of a chair die.

On cue, the BB-unit emerged from the shadows and rolled out in front of the Supreme Leader, waiting expectedly. 

“What’s the status on my request?” 

The little black droid let out a series of beeps and boops before extending a projector from one of its sockets. It revealed a holographic screen displaying Kylo’s holomail inbox.

“ _From General Armitage Hux, Hour 08:37,”_ the BB-unit beeped, _“Request denied.”_

Kylo let out a snarl. He should have known Hux would screw him over. He sent a request weeks ago to get the throne replaced with something more comfortable, but the General warned him not to get his hopes up. A significant dent was already put in the Order’s finances from the other modifications made to the throne room, and there was no allowance for further renovations. Apparently, being the Supreme Leader didn't mean you could escape the budgetary restrictions of an organization. 

“ _Would you like to reply to General Armitage Hux?”_ BB-9E inquired.

“No,” Kylo sighed with a defeated wave of his hand, “Just throw it in the usual pile.”

The droid obeyed and moved the holomail into a special spam folder dedicated to the General’s bullshit. It contained thousands of unopened messages accumulated over the years. Earlier holomails included hostile subject lines like “ _READ YOUR FUCKING HOLOMAIL, REN_ ”, but that was before Kylo became Supreme Leader. Nowadays, Hux’s tone was a lot less shrill and far more subdued. Good.

That said, Kylo’s resistance to opening holomail wasn’t simply due to Hux being annoying. He wasn’t a fan of new-age technology on the best of days and was more likely to destroy it than engage with it. Text-based communication becoming the main means of correspondence within the Order was just a paranoid response to Hux’s failed little Starkiller project as well as the recent murder of Snoke. Luckily, these fools didn’t know who was responsible for the latter, and he intended to keep it that way. Thus, he played along and allowed this holomail nonsense to continue. 

There was only one holomail he found to be particularly useful: the weekly rundowns sent by an administrative officer. He enjoyed the concise and straightforward wording of these messages, and the attached schedules actually helped him plan out his week. The writer also had a habit of finishing their holomails with “That’s all for today’s _first order_ of business”, which was a bit on the nose for what he assumed to be an attempt at humor, but also somewhat endearing. At least someone here was trying to have a personality. 

Speaking of, one of these weekly rundowns happened to pop up in his inbox just now. Excellent. 

“Read me the latest message, Niney,” he said, standing up. As BB-9E began beeping out the usual jargon, Kylo paced around a bit to stretch his legs and restore some blood flow to his ass. 

“ _Delivery from Sienar-Jaemus Fleet Systems scheduled for Sol 46. Console repairs in sector H1-07 due Sol 48. Strategy Update scheduled for Sol 49 in room 8990-D, meeting mandatory…”_

Kylo hummed in acknowledgment. He’d almost forgotten about the upcoming meeting. And he was the one running it. He would need to make preparations. The droid beeped on, rattling off more information, line by line, until it reached the end of the message.

“ _There is a new attachment. Would you like me to open it?”_

Ah, yes, the schedule. 

“Yeah, skim it over for me,” Kylo said. He turned away and started a slow pace around the throne, hands clasped behind his back. His boots echoed with each step, and as he listened to the empty silence of the hall, a brief calmness came over him. Sure, the throne room was scary, but the isolation also afforded him something he never had when working under Snoke: some peace and quiet. 

Maybe he didn’t fully know what he was doing, but at least there was now opportunity for him to make decisions on his own terms. At least now he could actually think without disruption or needing to monitor his thoughts at every waking moment. There was a certain freedom to it. An empowerment. Maybe now, things could finally go according to plan. 

“ _I would love nothing more than for you to bend me over and spank my cheeks until they’re red.”_

…

what. 

_“Is that right? You grin, stroking your thick schlong as I confessed my deepest fantasies. My panties were soaking at this point. Yes, sir. Pin me down and slap my luscious cheeks with your giant, heavy hand. Gloves on, of course. Winky face.”_

Slowly - very slowly - Kylo turned to face his BB-unit, which continued beeping and booping sentences in a constant, steady stream. 

“ _You’re such a naughty girl. I’ll have to set you straight. What if I spank you with my cock instead? Oh yes, please. Give it to me, sir. I need to be punished so, so bad.”_

“Niney,” Kylo croaked out, not bothering to clear his throat, “What...what are you doing?”

The droid paused and swiveled its head towards the man. 

“ _I am reading the attachment as you requested,”_ it beeped, then swiveled back to the holographic screen, not missing a beat, “ _Oh, I’ll give it to you, little pet. Ahh, I squealed as you pushed me face down against the control panel. My bare, juicy booty greeting you eagerly as you landed the first slaps of your thick cock against my-”_

“Stop that,” Kylo said, nearly tripping over himself to reach the BB-unit. 

“ _Are you sure? I have not finished reading the attach-”_

“I’m sure,” Kylo said, holding up a hand. His eyes flicked over to the holographic screen. Whatever document he was looking at was most definitely not next week’s updated schedule. He swiped the screen to scroll further down the endless wall of text, eyebrows furrowing more and more as he took in what he was seeing. _What in the-_

Porn. Someone had posted their pornographic musings for the entire First Order to see. And not just any porn. In only one or two paragraphs, he spotted a certain name pop up at least a dozen times. His name. 

Someone wrote an erotic story. Involving _him._

A few thoughts went through Kylo’s mind at that moment. First of all, the porn wasn’t very well written. Similes and metaphors with no relation to the context were shoved into sentences where they had no business being. Whoever was responsible for this was clearly in a haste to get the words on the page and didn’t take the proper time to nurture the eroticism and allow it to truly speak for itself. Not that he knew anything about that. 

More importantly, there had to be a motive for all this, which led to his second thought. The obvious answer was that this was some sort of prank or joke aimed at his expense. The less obvious answer was that the Order’s holomail servers had been breached, and this was a strange and perverted result of internal hacking. The least obvious answer, and the one that made his heart thump just a little quicker than it should, was that this document - intentional or not - was a public confession, and someone here had a _serious_ thing for him.

Which led to his final thought: 

Was this...turning him on?

Say what you will about the shitty metaphors, the writer was very clear and descriptive with what things they wanted Kylo to do to them, and they to him. And if the document’s extensive word count was anything to go by, there appeared to be many, _many_ things. 

Kylo swallowed the growing lump in his throat as his eyes trailed up to the original sender’s address. The administrative officer. The one with the cute “first order” joke. Their approach to these holomails was always so thorough and to the point. Could it be that beneath the layers of professional rhetoric was a raw, wanton neediness just waiting to be teased and exposed? 

Exposed by him of all people?

The thought sent a rare and unexpected thrill down his spine, and despite himself, Kylo felt warmth spread across his face.

“How naughty…” he muttered.

“ _What was that?”_ BB-9E beeped, making Kylo jump.

“Nothing,” he said, turning away to hide his flushed face. This was childish. He knew it. It could just as well be a prank, or a security breach like he initially thought - both of which would need to be severely punished. 

But...if he was correct about this administrative officer’s intentions...well, then. Maybe they’d like to be severely punished in a different way. Either way, he needed to get to the bottom of this.

“ _Did you want to send a response to this holomail chain?”_

“Not to everyone,” he said. “Just the officer.”

“ _And what would you like to say?”_

Kylo ran a hand through his hair. Great question. Regardless the reason for this holomail, the sender was undoubtedly going to face the wrath of Hux and his other high-and-mighty constituents - if that wasn’t underway already. But Hux wasn’t exactly subtle nor well-equipped in the art of information gathering. Especially not the _seductive_ kind. That was all Kylo’s territory. Throw in a smouldering glance here, a “You know I can take whatever I want” there, and in no time, the suspect would spill all their secrets and then some. 

Yes. A more personable, suave approach would definitely be required for this mission. He would need to play it cool. 

“Um...say ‘thanks for the update’, I guess?” He regretted it as soon as he said it. “Wait no, nevermind. That’s stupid. Don’t-” 

“ _Message sent.”_

Oh.

Well. Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for playing it cool, Kylo, you horny idiot. 
> 
> I wonder what will happen next?


End file.
